Gillian Welch and David Rawlings survived a devastating storm to make new album 'Woodland'

In March 2020, when a deadly twister tore through East Nashville just days before an even more devastating pandemic, the famed Woodland Sound Studios — home to people like Tammy Wynette's Soft touchIndigo Girls' Ophelia Swamp, By Jimmy Buffett A1Aand dozens of dear others — stood in the eye of the storm. Its roof was clear, but its foundations were preserved as if protected by divine powers. On hand to pick up the pieces were its owners, Grammy-winning folk duo Gillian Welch and David Rawlings.

There, the prolific singer-songwriters and longtime collaborators had not only stored all of their top recordings and gear—treasures nearly destroyed by the tornado—but created a vast catalog of tender, transcendent truth-telling. And for the better part of the past four years, they've paid for the hell Mother Nature has wrought in the form of a partial rebuild and the production of a sonorous new album, Forestnamed in honor of the studio. It is the first co-signed by the duo in seven years.

Rich with melancholic vocals and heart-tugging storytelling – from the melodic lament “What We Had” to a deeply moving acknowledgment of aging, “Here Stands a Woman” – the result is a record that's audible, yet thematic. like, well, two people taking stock after a less-than-literal brawl. On the latter track, for example, Welch sings decisively: “You told me you loved me/And that would never change/But I look in the mirror/I know I'm not the same.”

“For all the loss, sadness and devastation on this album, there's a tremendous joy and relief to be working and making another record in our beloved studio that was almost destroyed,” Welch says during a phone interview with Rolling Stone. “That runs through all the songs … that feeling of, 'Maybe I was taking some things for granted and didn't realize it could have been gone.'

Much has already been written about the damage caused by the 2020 storm. But it's something different that Welch recalls during the conversation. In 1998, a cyclone extending a mile wide destroyed the studio, claiming significant portions of its structure and, once again, a portion of its roof. By 2001, the abandoned studio was condemned, not to mention its location contested litigation. That's what Welch remembered as Woodland's most dangerous moment — the first one that spurred her and Rawlings to make sure it lasted.

“The only people who wanted to buy it were big national chains that were looking at the city block and the site to tear it down and turn it into a pharmacy,” he says.. Two loans later, Welch and Rawlings bought the studio the same year to keep it as sound engineer Glenn Snoddy wanted in 1968.“We were the crazy ones who bought it to keep it a studio, which made absolutely no sense. I'm really happy that Dave and I, as absurd as it is, were able to do it.”

One realizes that Woodland's evolution is a convenient metaphor for Welch and Rawlings — creative and otherwise. Now in their fifties, they think more than ever about the passing of time. Neither of them are drunk on nostalgia, but neither are they completely immune to sentimentality, especially for where they are right now. So it's no surprise that where much of the Americana genre mourns what has gone, Forest It plays like a humble offering at the altar of what remains. a poetry about the inherent strength of conservation. For every look back, another lingers on what lies ahead. And for every loss, a new discovery.

On “Hashtag,” a tribute to the late Guy Clark, mentor and friend of Welch and Rawlings, is made through clever use of social media symbolism: “You laughed and said the news would be bad/If I ever saw your name with a hashtag,” Rawlings cries. “Singers like you and me/We're only news when we die.”

“All the songs that were chosen had two sides held together by the lyrics,” says Rawlings Rolling Stone. “I mean, definitely very obvious on something like 'Bells and the Birds,'” he adds, before quoting a lyric from the record's fourth track. “Some hear a song and some hear a warning. It's like, “Who is it?” It is both.”

“I definitely feel like the album is full of contrast, even contrast within a song,” echoes Welch. “There's a lot of change, there's a lot of conflict, but there's also a stillness.”

Long-time fans of Welch and Rawlings know that when it comes to their creative process, “good enough” is not in the vocabulary of die-hard perfectionists. “That has never been our experience. I wish it was… sounds like fun,” Rawlings jokes when asked if satisfaction ever came easily. Similarly, Welch compares the deluge of writing, recording, improvising, then re-recording and re-recording to Peter Jackson's exhaustive editing on Lord of the Rings. Rawlings, for example, wrote so much—about 100 songs' worth—that he initially considered a double record. it was ForestHis unmistakable narrative thread and the way the pieces flowed in an easy succession that gave him pause.

In these moments of abundance, one would imagine that it is difficult to know when to stop. Given how experienced Welch and Rawlings seem to be with time, how do they know when each story has reached its end? Although Rawlings initially responds with an exasperated “I don't know,” both eventually agree that it has to do with instincts and an innate trust built up over the past few decades.

The pair is currently gearing up for a 34-date tour, criss-crossing from La Vista, Nebraska to the Evanston Folk festival to Tysons, Virginia. When we spoke, they were both excited by a recent performance – a live debut of many Forest. Last month, they played eight of the new songs at the Newport Folk festival to a warm reception. Even Zach Bryan commented on the festival account position: “My queen, my hero, we love you and pray that you will always make music.”

Rawlings recalled playing the first line of “What We Had” to see many people in the crowd greet it like an old friend and start singing along as if they had been listening to it for years.

“It was like 'here we are,'” he says, noting all the years they played in Newport. “I don't feel any different.”

“People in the audience are just amazed that it's still us,” says Welch. They hope everyone who listens will feel the same way. But more than anything, Welch said she wants to push people to get comfortable with all the nuances of life — to take the wrinkles and the wisdom with gratitude, to taste the bitter with the sweet, and to really listen to both the song as well as the warning.

“You know… it's a painful experience just an experience,” says Welch. “That's where the real kind of growth and transcendence happens. Maybe you wish it wasn't, but why wish? So you don't want the spectrum of life? I think you do.”